


I Didn't Think This Far Ahead

by CosmicCole



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Cock Worship, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Rimming, and tons of smut ahead, bossy!diggle, oliver literally loves John's cock yo, so cute, submissive!Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicCole/pseuds/CosmicCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP in which Oliver is kinky as fuck and John can kinda get down with it. </p><p>Also, the name is literally my reaction like I have no clue what to call this senseless smut other than a secret fantasy of my pervy mind.</p><p>Dunno about follow up piece but I can dig this ship (GET IT)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is the Smutty Chapter

"I have specific…I…”

Oliver Queen is embarrassed. John’s never seen this before. He’s also never seen Oliver Queen naked either. Today is a day of firsts.

“Okay John,” Queen breathes out. He traces over one of his scars (of course it’s the one on his stupidly perfect abs) absent-mindedly. “I like certain things.”

"Like men?” John asks, voice soft, sure, plain. His hands shake though. Oliver’s fingers over pink, rippled flesh. He’s sweating. His pants are suddenly tighter than he remembered. Oliver Queen, womanizer, billionaire and vigilante and apparently gay?

“No! Not exactly. Men, women…I like sex.” His eyes meet John’s, and though he seems slightly (arousingly) shy and timid, his pupils are blown wide, almost eclipsing the piercing blue in his gaze. “I like it…rough.”

John exhales sharply. “Rough?” It is getting warmer.

Oliver grins wickedly his dick (half-hard) twitches. John clenches his fists. Oliver moves in, predatory, lean, muscled. John wants to grab him.

“I think you can help me with that,” Oliver breathes. Jesus he is so sure. John is, in contrast, so confused. Oliver always seems ahead of everyone else, even naked and asking for sex, his confidence radiates off him, perhaps even more so than normal.

“How so?”

Oliver’s hands are on John’s buttons, popping one after the other. “You’re pretty big Dig. Strong. I feel like you can handle me.”

His teeth, his perfect fucking teeth, nip at John’s ear lobe. John is melting. The cool air of the basement-headquarters feels nice against his over heated skin.

“Handle you? Oliver Queen?” John snorts, ironically.

“Mmm,” Oliver looks at him, his hands sliding over dark skin as he muses. “C'mon Dig, you’ve never wanted to push me around a little bit before?”

“Jesus Oliver-”

“It’s just sex,” his precise fucking hands, at some point he’s gotten into John’s slacks, his nails scrape over his hardening cock, a thin layer of cloth keeping flesh from flesh. “John.”

Dig shoves, hard, throwing Oliver back on to the table he has laid, bleeding, several times before. Oliver grins as John Diggle grips his hips, jerks them together and smashes his lips against Oliver’s, biting them open. Oliver’s legs wrap around his narrow waist, pressing their pelvises together. Oliver makes a sound, a delicious, shameless noise that John fucking devours. He never fathomed Oliver would be like…this. Of course, he’d never thought about Oliver’s sex life before, never mind imagining himself fucking the billionaire. He’s seen Oliver clad in just shorts several times, body sheen with sweat, and he’s never thought about licking the drops off his glorious fucking chest. Now he’s ravishing every inch of Oliver’s rough skin, licking up beads of sweat, biting at him, daring him to make more sounds. Oliver obliges, moaning like a fucking porn star. Dig wants to fuck his mouth. Wants to shove his painfully hard dick in the archer and fuck every last perfect sound out of him. His veins ache with the desire.

John is so fucking hard. His nails bite into Oliver’s skin, the archer keens in response, whining out John’s name. John has known Oliver for a long time and has NEVER heard the man whine before. 

He needs to hear more.

“I’m going to fuck the absolute shit out of you,” John swears, then sinks his teeth into Oliver’s shoulder.

“Yes!”

Oliver sounds positively desprate. John has never wanted to fuck anyone so bad in his life.

He steps back and Oliver literally shivers at the loss. His pupils, blown wide, focus on the other larger man, on his face, his shoulder’s, his chest, his hands, his giant fucking dick buldging against his boxers. His cobalt eyes are dangerous.

“Will you beg?”

Oliver moans, gaze softening. “I’ll do anything if you’ll fuck me.”

“Oh,” John breaths, trying to calm himself. He feels like a child, more aroused than he can even begin to describe. At this rate, he’ll come too fast, he needs to calm down. He also knows very little about this whole dominant thing that Oliver is (apparently) into. He tries to recall anything. Draws a blank. Oliver says he’ll do anything. John decides to start by testing that.

“Touch yourself.”

Oliver starts with his nipples, (John savors every second because wow Oliver fucking Queen is really doing whatever he says) tweaking them into hardness. His touge lulls over his lips, wetting them, as his hands slide lower, tracing over muscles and scars, over blonde curls, gripping the base of his thick, red cock. Precome beads heavy on the angry head. John is starting to realize how turned on Oliver is.

“Ollie,” John says. Oliver is terribly responsive (he fucking WHIMPERS.) “I want you to come all over yourself.”

John is sliding off his clothes, slowly, keeping Oliver’s lust-hooded gaze as the archer pumps his dick furiously. John smiles, nodding his encouragement, putting on a show of his own as he disrobes slowly.

“Oh my god,” is Oliver’s only warning before he goes rigid and comes all over himself, just as he was told to, his eyes never leaving his apprentice’s.

John is on him blindingly fast, his training with the Hood paying off as it would seem. Oliver loves how easy John lifts him off the table, clad now only in navy blue briefs and Oliver’s scent.

“God yes Oliver,” John praises, kissing, biting, and licking everything he can get his mouth on. He leaves bruises on Oliver’s collar, likes how they look, likes how Oliver whispers his satisfaction in the form of John’s name, over and over. He’s so responsive. So animal-like. It’s making John feel like an animal himself.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he groans into Oliver’s ear. Oliver smells so good, covered in sweat and come, he smells like pure ecstasy to John.

“Please do,” Oliver laughs. John thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. 

He lays Oliver on the table (captivated by the goosebumps that light up Oliver’s skin when it meets the cool metal) and peels off his last article of clothing. Oliver smears his come over his fingers, looks John Diggle in the eye, shoves two fingers up his ass (the look on his face and the cry of John’s name that gasps from his lips are going to ruin him for the rest of his life he thinks) and John fucking looses every semblance of his perfect composure.

He groans, the first sound he’s made. It’s deep and primal and John jerks himself off watching Oliver Queen fuck himself on two slender fingers.

“Fuck John,” Queen laughs, and he sounds kind of crazy, like he’s snapped. John gets it. “I’m gonna come so hard with your dick inside me.”

“Yeah?” He thinks he could make Oliver come all the time. Thinks he was never meant for anything but sticking his dick in a billionaire’s perfect fucking ass. He’s never felt more alive. 

Oliver bites his lip, his fingers slide out and John is right there, head pressed against his come-slick hole. He smears the head of his cock there, makes Oliver tremble. 

“Dig.” Oliver’s eyes slip open, the name escapes his lips like a prayer.

John loves making Oliver Queen beg. Crazy. Madness. What a time to be alive.

“Ollie, you want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” Oliver whines, his eyes snap open and lock on to the larger man’s. “Please fuck me. Never wanted anyone so bad. Dig please. Please!”

Oliver’s voice cracks as he begs. John can’t wait anymore. He pushes in, bottoms out in one stroke. Oliver screams his name. His toes curl. Dig is never going to forget this.

“Jesus Oliver I could fuck you forever,” John decides. Oliver moans his agreement, gripping for some leverage. John laces their fingers together. Oliver’s whole gaze softens, his moans become quieter, less showy, more personal. They take the form of John’s name. They can’t look away from each other. John leans down, his pace slows, but is perfect, hits the right spot in Oliver, feels his body tensing.

“John-”

“I know,” John smiles against Oliver’s lips. They kiss. Oliver whines and comes, John’s stomach rubs against his dick as it twitches out his release against their bellies. He scoops Oliver up in his arms, still inside his teacher. Oliver laughs in post coidal bliss, his face and chest are flushed.

John burries his face in Oliver’s neck, ruts furiously, breathes in his scent, savors the scratch of his stubble against the his check, sighs his name and comes, harder he thinks than he ever has in his life.

They wind up on a training mat. John sinks down, Oliver in his arms, with ease. Oliver is still grinning wildly and John can’t pry his face away from Oliver’s skin. They’ll never have a casual sparring session again, he decides as a resigned sigh falls from his lips.

“Wow.” Dig speaks first.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Oliver, still grinning, seems complacent. Dig can feel his muscles, loose and relaxed, under his fingers as they roam his boss’ exposed flesh.

“Oh will you? Maybe I thought you were horrid.”

Oliver laughs. Dig smiles.

“C'mon, let’s get dressed before someone comes looking for us. Hardly in the mood to traumatize Felicity.” Dig speaks, soft, a large hand rubs Oliver’s back.

“Trust me Dig, she’d hardly be traumatized. Also, it’s four in the morning, no one is looking for us.” Oliver pops right up, stretches, makes his way over to the sink. He wets a small hand towel, wiping away his dried on cum. Have they really been fucking for two hours?

John has a lot of questions, mostly “why now?” and maybe “why not sooner?” He bites them back and watches Oliver dress instead. He pulls on his white button down, it sticks to his come slicked chest. He wants a shower. Needs some air. He’s hungry and his skin smells like Oliver and every time he blinks he sees the archer’s face, masked with pleasure.

“Go home Dig,” Oliver sighs out. “Get cleaned up. It’s late.”

“But you-” 

“I’ll be finished here soon, Dig, don’t worry. I’m right behind you.”

Dig thinks ‘is it not I who is behind you?’ but he just nods and exits the Arrowcave, 100% sure of just one thing.

Oliver Queen is quite a man


	2. This is the Cute Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wasn't gonna make this a thing but I was watching Arrows and I'm like omg sleeping!Oliver feels plot bunny thing and then yeah cute things.

Oliver doesn't sleep much. John has known him for over a year now and has seen the archer go days on end with no sleep. One would think it would make him a poor archer.

It isn't until they started having sex that he actually sees the man sleep (well, aside from a few moments in which his life was at stake, and he was unconscious and bleeding to death, but he tries not to think about those nights ever really.) 

Oliver requires a lot, sexually. He particularly likes being choked, which does nothing for John, except maybe he kind of likes the bruises on Oliver's skin. He also likes being smacked around, fingers down his thoat, being suspended (which Dig actually really enjoys too) but sometimes, it's just enough to fuck, hard and fast and crushing. Oliver likes that Dig can hold him, right in the center of their training mat and fuck him. Dig likes it too.

Anyway, one evening (the night he patched up Roy's arrow wound) Oliver is feeling particularly frisky, insisting (with his mouth, on John's dick, in the hallway) that John just HAD to stick around and fuck him. John, of course, did. At this point, they had been having sex any time they tried training and anytime they got alone. Oliver is insatiable on a good day and John has never wanted to fuck a man in his life and now he literally want to have sex with Oliver Queen all the goddamn time.

They fucked, hard (Oliver screamed, actually, but he does live in a mansion with a ghost of a mother and an absentee sister so his cries fell only on John's ears) and after it all the billionaire passes out, hard, sprawled out on the bed. John showers, comes out, sits in a chair and watches Oliver sleep. For hours. He's fascinated. The hero moves a lot, tossing and turning. Naked, half in the blanket and half out, John realised that night that not only was Oliver one hell of a man, he was also a beautiful one. John watched him then until Oliver woke a few hours later, screaming. That time the sound had made John feel ill. There was only fear there, twisted by nightmares. 

Currently (even after his wife came back, then left, again,) months later, John still finds himself sleeping in Oliver's bed more nights than not. The sex has changed. It was still insanely kinky (just a few evenings ago, Oliver had introduced John to waxing, which he had actually found quite interesting and, though he'd never say it out loud, terribly arousing) but some nights, it was soft.

Some nights, like to night, it was overwhelmingly gentle.

It has been a terrible night for the Green Arrow, death, despite his greatest efforts to avoid it. Oliver has been hurt. Badly. John has been unsettled. He can't just leave after he takes Oliver to the mansion, after he puts him into bed. He sits on the edge of Oliver's bed, starring at him intensely. His hands fold. Unfold. Fold. Unfold. Fol-

"John," Oliver grabs his hand. 

John looks at him. "I thought-"

"I'm not that easy to kill."

John grabs his face, softly. He touches Oliver's bruises, his split lip, his swollen jaw. He gets lost in his blue eyes, in his scarred lips, in the past etched into his skin. 

And then, suddenly, they're kissing. It's weird, awkward, almost unsure, and comforting. It's different. John is over him, covering him, touching him like he might break and shatter, like he might still be far away, at that place. Oliver usually stops this gentleness, joking he "will not break" and "doesn't need to be coddled". There is none of that tonight. Oliver makes soft noises, sighing like every heavy burden is sliding off of him. He's keening, panting and they're taking it slow even (maybe terribly so, but John cannot stop kissing every fucking inch of his archer so very gently) but Oliver is breathing like they've been at it for hours, his back is arching, his dick straining against his boxers, John can't be hurried though, so Oliver doesn't try.

"John," he sighs. He squirms, writhes, curses and prays, almost all in the form of John Diggle's fucking name. The larger man feels every word, straight vibrate in his bones.

"Oliver," John tugs at the hem of his boxers, Oliver's hips rise knowingly, John peels them off and he's right there ya know, already, licking a bruise on Oliver's hip and then he's fucking sucking Oliver Queen's cock.

"Oh. Mygod," Oliver gasps, hard. His eyes are wide and starring down at John. "Do. Not. Stop. Please Dig. Jesus." Every word accented with a twitch of his hips.

John Diggle has never sucked a dick in his life, but he is smart, and he's had his dick sucked a fair amount of times, so he tries, hard, and Oliver doesn't complain. Actually, the rich kid just moans ludicrously. John is holding his sides, licking the head of Oliver's cock, kissing his length, sucking his fucking balls and Oliver cannot handle it. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He chokes out, his nails bite into John's shoulder blades as he bolts up, curls over the man. "I'm gonna fuckin' come."

His voice cracks, his eyes are wild, desprate. There's something there, something John has never seen and can't explain and he jerks away from Oliver's cock. Oliver sobs at the loss, his whole body trembles and he falls back, head hitting the pillow, eyes wide and panicked.

"Fuck! John!"

"Sh Jesus Oliver it's okay, I just..." Now, it's John's turn to be embarrassed.

Oliver arches an eyebrow, turns his gaze from the ceiling to John's soft brown eyes.

"I want to try something...different," John can't explain it. Can't explain the aching need and the terrible, insane urge he has right now. He's never felt like this.

Oliver sits up, and they're inches apart. They breathe each other's air. John can feel Oliver's bandaged chest against his own as he inhales. Exhales. Inhales. Exhales. Inha-

Oliver wraps his arms around John's body, pulls them together, and they're kissing. John feels like Oliver is trying to tell him something and trying to kiss answers out of him all at the same time. John's knees are on either side of Oliver's hips and he's rocking, rubbing their cocks together. 

"Oliver," he tries not to sound breathless. Fails a little.

Oliver smiles, laughs softly and sounds purely giddy (John loves seeing little flashes of this part of Oliver Queen, this soft, playful side that the island tried to destroy, the parts of himself he forgets.) The archer sucks two fingers into his mouth as John sucks hickies into his neck and jerks their cocks with one big hand.

And then Oliver has two fingers inside him. In John's ass.

"Jeeeesus Oliver," John gasps, and suddenly they're locking gazes, inches apart, and it's terribly intense.

"Yeah, Dig?" Oliver's fingers are slow, gentle, spreading, beckoning, searching and John has done the same thing to the billionaire enough times to know what he's prying around for. Oliver licks his lips. He looks hungry, John thinks.

John jerks suddenly, gasping. "Oliver!"

Oliver grins. "There it is." His arm around Dig pulls him closer, he inhales John's scent, and like a dog with a bone, he keeps at John's spot. Over and over and over until John is coming unravled and cannot wait.

"Oliver!" He slaps away Oliver's hand that's tormenting him and properly sinks down on Oliver's dick with no warning.

They gasp each other's names into their open mouths. John is fucking himself on Oliver, Oliver is holding him tight, making him go slow, smothering him with kisses and praise. John's cock drools against Oliver's stomach. He's vaguely aware that he's just bantering, uttering pure nonsense.

"Jesus yes," Oliver is petting John's back, licking his ear. "I want you to come with my dick inside you. I want you to feel it. I want you to...I need you to..."

Oliver can't say it, John knows he wouldn't be able to either. He nods, frantically, leaning, tilting, trying to find it. Oliver's dick slides against his prostate and John literally trembles, his stride faulters briefly. Oliver smiles, "Yes good. Yes Dig. Yes yes yesyesohmygod John."

John gets it. Oliver reaches back with one hand, bracing himself, matching John's sudden ferocity. John shakes his head, hums between pleasure and kisses, "please...nndon't hurt...youself-ah!"

He comes, letting out a broken, overwhlemed sound. He comes so hard it hits Oliver's chin, splatters on both their chests. Oliver laughs, holds Diggle close. 

"Just like that. So fucking hot Dig. Thank you. Oh god thank you forthisJohn." He comes, hard, yelping.

They sit there like that for a while. John feels weird all over, light and floaty and comical, such a large man, in Oliver's lap. He burries his face in Oliver's neck, breathes him in. They're so still. 

John kisses him, softly, and wipes the cum off his chin. They both smile as John gets off the bed and returns from the hero's bathroom with a small hand towel to clean the cum off the two of them.

"You want to get a shower?" He asks Oliver, his voice soft. Oliver nods, smiling.

They shower, briefly (or as briefly as they can without wetting the archer's bandages) and Oliver lets John check his wounds and change his gauze.

Oliver's stomach growls. He doesn't eat much. John sends him to the kitchen ("Go get an apple or something, Oliver.") and changes the sheets before he returns, a pear, half eaten, in hand. He finishes it, washes his hands. They're in bed, after that, just...gazing at each other. John feels relaxed. He touches Oliver's face again. He lips. Their foreheads press together. 

Oliver falls asleep feeling safe, without either of them really noticing.

John watches him, scared of his nightmares, waiting to hold Oliver and comfort him through his own demons. Like Oliver, he does not find sleep to be a safe space. He's laying on his side, he and Oliver facing each other. Oliver never sleeps like this. He isn't tossing about. After four hours he hasn't had a single nightmare, and simply lays there, snoring softly. John has never seen Oliver so at peace. He feels drowsy himself. Delirious and sleep deprived, John childishly fights the urge to sleep just so he can watch Oliver as he is now. He's known this archer for so long, but never seen him like this.

"Oliver."

John sigh falls asleep desite his best efforts thinking he'll never smell anything as sweet and Queen's scent. He dreams of warmth and words he could never say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the lovey dovey heart feels cause it's gonna hurt soon.


	3. Remember the Angst I Mentioned?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, uh, so, uh, some angst? Sara comes back and Oliver is super distant and no sex and Dig is pretending it doesn't bother him and that he isn't mad about it.
> 
> But his feelings are hurt and he's pissed.
> 
> Still, when Oliver says help, John does.

Exercise routines calm him. The same set of moves, slapped out against pads and wood. John Diggle blows off a lot of steam this way. Oliver hasn't been around much lately to teach him anything either, so this is really all he has.

Sara.

"Grah!" Dig hits, hard. He turns, sweating, angry. He hates this. He tries not to blame the girl, tries not to be angry with Oliver for prioritizing (for choosing her over him?)

He hasn't slept with Oliver in a month, two? It feels longer. He sighs, grabs his water bottle and drains it with a satisfying crunch. He tosses it in the trash aggressively. He can hear Oliver scoft in his head about control, channelling one's rage, etc. To Hell with Oliver Queen, and his endless lectures. With his coiled muscles and fierce blue stare. 

Two weeks later Sara is gone and Roy is messed up and Dig feels bad, and not just for his mopey fling. Oliver is a mess, more so than he lets on at first, but Dig can tell.

Then it's five am, and Oliver Queen's name is flashing across his phone with one word: 

Emergency.

John flies out of bed (soft apologies to his wife) trips into a t-shirt and pants. He's out of the house in minutes. At Oliver's new little apartment in record time, flying through the door, gun drawn, ready to kill. He breathes, slowly. Always keep your cool.

"Dig."

Oliver is sitting on the kitchen floor. John's eyes dart around before rushing to him.

"Are you hurt? Poisoned?"

He gets closer and smells alcohol. Oliver smiles, but it's cruel and bitter.

"Not by anything I didn't give myself," he growls out.

John sighs, aggravated. It's an awfully terrible hour, John was actually managing to get in sleep without having to relive the most terrifying moments of his life, and of course, Oliver has decided now would be the prime time to have a mental break down. He does not have the patience for the Archer.

"Get up."

"No, c'mon Dig. Come down here with me." Oliver is pulling at his hands like a child, he's trying to sound sexy, but he just sounds dumb and drunk.

Dig grabs his hands, jerks him to his feet. Oliver, far more wasted than John thought, flies against his chest, stumbling. Dig gives him his best disapproved parent face. Oliver smirks (its twisted and God Dig hates it) and tries to kiss him. Dig turns his face away, "You gotta be shitting me right now Oliver," and he lifts the man off his feet.

Oliver's whole energy shifts as John carries him to the bed. His anger melts away, and when John lays him in his bed, Oliver's blue eyes burn holes of pain and sorrow into the ceiling. His eyes are watery.

"Jesus Oliver," John softens quickly as well, sits on the bed beside them man. Oliver's arm covers his face. He stays like that, silent and unmoving, John's heavy, comforting hand on his chest. John tries not to push him, he knows what burdens the hero anyway. Between Roy and Sara (plus five years) Oliver's heart has been dealt too many blows and he's not as hard as he thought.

John sighs looming over his friend. He gently takes Oliver's hand, pulls it away from his face, offers him the most sympathetic, genuine smile he can manage and speaks, "Don't hide from me. C'mon Oliver. You know I have your back."

Oliver is suddenly on him, gripping him tightly, face burried in John's t-shirt. John holds him, kisses the top of his head, rubs his back, murmers sweet comforts into his hair. Oliver trembles softly in his arms and John's heart breaks for his archer. They haven't touched in weeks, not even to spar. Still when they touch, when John holds him now, it feels like Oliver never left. It feels like home. 

"Oliver?" John pulls him close. "I'm going to stay here tonight. With you."

Oliver nods against his chest. John pets his head. He's never seen Oliver so...dismal. He kisses over the blonde's cheeks. 

"Hey, how about we get a shower? Get you in some fresh clothes? Change your sheets? C'mon," John rises, but Oliver just seems lost, dazed. He stares at his hands. John, patience suddenly in abundance, takes his hands and kneels down to lock eyes with the hero.

 

"Oliver. Come with me." He's stern, uses his "no-ways-around-this" voice and somehow it reaches Oliver. The billionaire blinks his stupid big blue eyes, nods and allows John to lead him to the shower. It's a studio apartment, everything is all right there. John turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature to a pleasant warmth.

"You can get undressed." It almost comes out as a question, he isn't sure what sort of place Oliver is in right now, maybe he's to depressed to even change. John is relieved when Oliver starts peeling off his clothes. He gives Oliver's hand a squeeze and gathers up his clothes.

Oliver showers and John tosses Oliver's discarded clothes in his hamper. He peels the sheets off his bed, puts them in there as well. Makes up the bed, even changes the pillow cases. Goes to the kitchen and splashes water on his face. He's tired, but his duty is to Oliver.

"You almost done?"

The water cuts off, and the glass door opens to a wet, steamy (and very naked) Oliver. John hands him a towel. "Are you hungry?"

Oliver shakes his head as he dries off. He drops his towel in the hamper, pulls on a pair of boxers and manages to sit down on the bed before John is there, infront of him with a glass of water.

"You should still drink some water," John encourages.

Queen drinks, and then, softly, "I'm really sorry John..."

John takes the glass from him, sets in on the nightstand. He shakes his head. Oliver blew him off, hurt him (more than he'll ever admit) but still, John can't bare to hear the man apologize, because Oliver isn't sorry for hurting his heart. He's sorry for being Oliver, and that won't do.

John kisses him, on the lips this time. They haven't kissed in so long. John pours everything into it, and still manages to keep the kiss gentle. He isn't asking for anything from Oliver, but Oliver needs to know. He just has to.

They part.

"I'm here man," John says softly against Oliver's lips. He smells clean now, though John can still taste whiskey on his lips and smell it in their shared air. Oliver nods. John feels immense releif. "Let's go to bed Oliver."

Neither of them are the best at sleep, but John is willing to try if his archer will (besides, he does usually sleep better with Oliver anyway.) He hasn't shared a bed with Oliver in so long. Oliver slides into bed first, John peels off his shoes and pants, and climbs in behind him. He pulls the slightly smaller man close to him, traces patterns on his abused skin. He hopes Oliver can feel his sincerity.

He lays there for a while, face burried in Oliver's hair, savoring the smell and the soft tickle against his face. Oliver's holding his hand under the pillow. John hopes he's alseep as he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a little short but I really wanted to get back to something lighter.


	4. Oops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh Dig and Oliver catching feels cos that happens when you have a lot of sex but hey neither of them can admit that.
> 
> This should have stayed a one shot omg now look what has to happen there has to be angst.

He whispers the filthiest shit he can think of to the Archer, things he's never dared to utter at a woman. Oliver whines and moans and swear and begs for more more more. He gets hard for John again (Dig knew he would) and his nails bite into John's flesh. John's fingertips bite bruises into Oliver's neck.

John fucks him hard, fast, their skin slapping obscenely. Oliver looks possesed, kind of sounds it too withI the way he keeps uttering total nonsense. It should be silly, but Dig thinks it might be the best thing ever.

"Gonna fuck you so hard," he growls into Oliver's ear. "Gonna fuck you so good no one else will do, nothing else but my fucking cock will ever be as good. Gonna make you remember how it feels forever. Even when you're alone, you'll think of me."

"YesyesyesyesJohnyeeessss," it's all one word and it sounds goddamn indecent spilling from Oliver's lips. John feels lightheaded.

"God Oliver-" John's hand leaves his neck, fists in his short hair. He jerks back, Oliver moans. He bites the rich kid's neck, inhales his scent, drowns in his cries.

They actually come together. It's also a first. Oliver fucking sobs and screams and it comes out in Dig's name, and goes limp against John. He's panting like he's just run ten miles, shivering like it's freezing. His cock twitches as it goes soft.

"Oh...my...god." he pants, voice hoarse.

John kisses him, softly, every precious inch he can. He holds Oliver, both arms wrapped around the blue-eyed man. They stay there catching their breath. John can't stop fucking kissing him, everywhere.

"Oliver I-"

"I know," Oliver croaks. "Best sex ever, right?" He looks back, they kiss, John feels a pang in his chest. John sets him down, feels Oliver's muscles tremble against his skin. Oliver's grinning at him like a kid who gets to eat a whole cake for dinner. He seems wild. He chats mindlessly as he walks over to the bathroom. There's a shower in there, or a shower head anyway. John follows behind him dumbly. He feels like he's moving through a fog. He's sinking.

John Diggle is in love with Oliver Queen, he decides when he makes it to the bathroom, and everything comes into focus on one particular hooded hero. Nothing will ever feel the same.

Oliver doesn't complain or tease him when John holds him too long in the shower, well not much ("c'mon Dig, lemme wash up before the water gets cold at least sheesh,") and only complains a little about the cum-stain on the front of his sweatpants. 

He pulls on a pair of athletic tights, the black, absorbent things that runners wear or whatever. He says it keeps him cool under the Arrow costume. John's slumps down in the computer chair and watches his friend string up his bow.

This isn't going to go well, John thinks when he can't tear his gaze away from his archer. His archer. How long has he thought like that? 

John sighs (wow he feels fifteen again dealing with his first girlfriend) and wonders where he went wrong in life. He should have picked up welding.


	5. Communications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Public sex but wow they need to tell each other they love each other.
> 
> Also, John makes Oliver cum a few times and stains his suit.
> 
> *edit* dear god sorry for all the typos. I'm making up for it with chapter six yo.

"Make me."

"What the fuck?" John swears. He doesn't normally do that. But then again Oliver has never told him to "make him" do anything (except maybe to make him cum.) Not when it comes to John fucking him though. "Don't be a brat."

Oliver Queen sulks in response. Scowls? Is he pouting? John wants to shove his cock between those stupid puffy, pink lips.

"Make me."

Again.

"You really want that Oliver?"

John grabs his neck. Bites his lip. Oliver shivers, but remains silent, with-holding. His skin is hot. His pulse jumps. The Arrow smells like leather and sweat. His fingers bite harder into Oliver's neck, he gasps. John shoves his tongue into Oliver's mouth. Oliver pushes back in defiance. John pushes him, all of him, shoving him into a brick wall. They're in an ally waiting. Always waiting. All John wanted was a quick fuck. He's been argueing with his wife enough about her stupid boss, and now his own boss is trying his nerves.

Funny. Can he even call Oliver his boss anymore. Oliver seems to think he's in charge right now, in his hood, in these streets. John's never fucked the Arrow before.

It isn't the same. He fights back, his teeth biting, his kisses hard and smothering. John lets go of his neck. He kisses the bruises there. He bites them. Oliver growls. John grips his leather clad hips, holds them against the wall.

"I'll make you alright," he hisses out. "I'll make you come in those stupid fucking pants. I'm going to fuck you, right here in this filthy ally, like the filthy boy we both know you are. I'm gonna fill you up with come and stain those goddamn tights." 

John would feel embarrassed with his words except Oliver finally fucking relents, for the most part, and rubs his cock against John's thigh. John slams his hips into the wall, pins him there with his knee. His bow hits the ground. Oliver comes up on his toes, tries to move against John's grip. John lets him, but only for a moment. He slaps Oliver's hips back against the wall. "Dig." "What, Arrow?" Oliver smirks, takes a handful of John's ass. John arches, their cocks rocking together. Oliver isn't usually handsy. John rusts harder, measures his drags. Oliver wants to rut against him shamelessly, but John wants to make him sweat for it. How else will he learn?

So Oliver's leather clad cock drags against his cock in a hard, measured rhythm. John's pretty much brutalizing his neck, sucking and biting deep purple marks there. He licks the shell of his ear. Oliver's panting. He groans softly, whines a little then, "Please, Dig."

"Please what? Now you fucking want it? You wanted it all along. God you're such a fucking slut for my cock. Do I fuck you that good? Will no one else do?"

"Yes."

Honestly, John wasn't expecting that.

His grip on Oliver goes soft, and the billionaire hero is rocking against him fast now, letting out these awful, needy noises. They're barely audible, but they make Dig's cock throb with need. His eyes are hooded, glazed, John can see the darkness of them just barely under the shadow of the hood. He shoves his fingers in Oliver's mouth, his other hand goes to his ass, giving it a sharp smack.

Oliver shivers and yelps. John smacks again. And again. Oliver's panting. His hips sputter, jumping uncontrollably for a moment before stilling. John can tell he's come. He knows what it looks like. He moves away.

"Lemme see your ass."

Oliver turns, faces the wall, pulls his stupid, pefect ass out of his pants. He bends over. His come strings, hanging from the head of his dick, stuck to his underwear. John gives his ass a sharp smack, making the skin glow. John uses spit to pump Oliver's dick, smearing some of his own cum along the length as well. Oliver's knees almost give. Dig catches him, one firm hand on his hip. 

"Did you come that hard?"

"You always make me come that hard."

John smacks his ass, just above his thighs. Oliver lets of a soft, broken noise. He wants Oliver differently now. The fire and violence is gone. He wants Oliver to feel him to his bones. 

"Yeah? Can you come again for me?"

Oliver nods furiously. Rocking into John's hand. "I could come all night if you wanted me to. If you told me to."

John smacks his ass. Hard. Oliver cries out. Moans his name, long and needy. He's dripping precome on John's fingers, ridiculously hard again. John uses it to press inside him, spread him open. Oliver's hard and begging.

"Fuck me pleasefuckme," the blonde swears.

John presses the head of his cock against his ass. He rubs, lazy. "Yeah, want my fuckin cock, Arrow?"

Oliver punches the wall, swears.

"Want me to fuck you how you like it? Split you apart, fill you up."

Oliver moans. He sounds almost wounded. "Yeah. Ohfuckyeah. Whatever you want Dig."

"No. Ask. Tell me. Tell me or I'll make you watch me jerk off and leave you like this."

Oliver 's breathless. His fists clench.

"Fuck Dig you know-"

"Beg for my cock or you don't get it."

Oliver stills, then, needy and soft and so terribly sweet. "I...I want you to fuck me. Please John. I need you to...I...you...John please please just fuck me." "Like you mean it." Oliver is quiet, and then, low, husky, "Need your fat cock. Need you to fuck me so hard I can't sit. Love how you fill me up. You're so big, Dig, Nothing else will do. Fuck me. Fuck me..."

"Good boy." John pets his hips. Slams into him.

Oliver moans. His fingers lace through John's. He arches back, licks at John's lips. They kiss, hard and desprate and different.

"Want you to come off my cock," John pants, free hand coming up Oliver's jacket to tweak his nipple. The Hood is gone. This is Oliver, sensitive and raw and like John's never seen. 

John makes it a point to fuck him slow. Real slow. Oliver begs the whole time. Swears on how much he loves his cock ("...so fuckin perfect...fuck me so good god fuck fucking feel your cock-AH-so deep so good love it please...") in some never ending string. He moans and shakes and comes again. He comes really hard this time, whining about how fucking hard John gets him. He doesn't go soft. John's never seen or heard of any man going like this, over and over, but he's never asked about a guy's sex life before. John takes forever to come, even with Oliver's insanely tight ass milking his cock.

"Such a good boy, coming for me. Taking my cock so good. Fuckin love it." I love you. John catches himself, won't let it fall from his lips, even if it's true. Which it is. He's blinded by Oliver, obsessed with him, will follow him anywhere. He wants to crawl under the archers skin, pulse in his veins. 

His mouth can't get enough of Oliver. Licking the shell of his ear. His hair brushes against John's nose, soft and damp with sweat. Oliver is shaking, his breath is ragged, he sounds like he's in rapture. John picks up the pace.

"Ollie," he whispers, swears. "You feel so good. Never gonna fuck anyone as good as you. Need you..." 

I love you.

John fucks it into him. Oliver's cock twitches, he cries out, loud. God. John hopes no one notices. He wouldn't care. Oliver leans back into him, his name slips from his lips.

"I can't-"

"You can. You will. Come on. Come for me. Be a good boy. C'mon Ol-"

Oliver cums and John has to hold him up. Pets his hips ("good boy yes yesgood") and finally comes, hard and god he swears he's never come so much in his life.

John holds him close.

"Oliver."

"Mmm..."

"Oliver, let's go home. I want to clean you up. Make you dirty again. Let me-"

"Jeez Dig we're supposed to be staking out-"

"Oliver."

Oliver chews his lip, pulls up his pants. Finally, he smiles, soft and rare. "Okay, John. Wouldn't actually want my pants staind."

John kisses his ear. "Good boy."


	6. Bout Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh look more smut and feels honestly this fic is probably about done.
> 
> Enjoy the super kinky, sweet chapter folks.
> 
> When aftercare turns into more hot sex.

John comes over almost every night, sleeps in the bed next to Oliver. They have sex for hours, John kisses him too much, covers him in marks. Bruises, scratches, welts. John can't stop. Oliver never asks him to. Only begs for more more more.

"Oliver," John kisses his glowing, red cheeks, the apex of his thighs and ass, the soft, full curve of his cheek. Oliver mewls awake. John can't believe it sometimes, how different Oliver is when they're naked, when they're alone (sometimes when there's others, John recalls fucking, slow, hand over Oliver's mouth at his Christmas party.)

"John," he begs, softly. 

Dig strokes his hips, his fingers dance over bruises and hickies. Oliver's flesh responds, goosebumps jumping up.

"John." 

Dig traces over his thighs, the back of his knees, his calves. His lips brush over Oliver's skin.

"Dig please-"

"Sh, Oliver."

Oliver is silent, but his fists grab hold of his soft, still warm sheets. The sun is coming up, but John hasn't slept. He fucked Oliver into sedation, showered, ate some cereal and watched the hero sleep. Oliver didn't move for five hours. John wanted him, and so, here they were.

"Stay right there, just like that."

Oliver sighs.

"Oliver?"

"I will."

John climbs off the bed, returns with a warm towel. He nudges Oliver's legs further apart, wipes his ass gently. John's cum from hours earlier is still there, thick and leaking from him.

Oliver lets out a gasp. Dig wishes he could see his face. He sits back. Kisses Oliver's hip. 

"Turn over," his voice was soft, but firm.

Oliver turns over, face red, cock hard against his stomach. John kisses the tip, and Oliver covers his face.

"No." John said simply. Oliver's arm falls away and Dig meet his gaze. He settles between Oliver's legs, wiping the cum leaking from him and then, gently, moves to Oliver's balls.

Oliver's lips are parted, his face flushed, his eyes hooded. His hands are gripping the sheets. Black eclipses blue when John looks into his eyes. Dig thinks Oliver looks best like this, turned on beyond reason. He enjoys making the billionaire come undone.

"Stay there, like that."

"Yes," Oliver replies, eyes widening. He watches John go across the loft to the bathroom sink and rinse the rag thoroughly before returning. Oliver hasn't moved a muscle. He shudders when Dig sits back down on the bed and begins to clean his dick, starting at the base. He's slow, methodical, and Oliver is making it more difficult, his dick is beading precome heavily.

"John." Oliver whines. "Please please-"

Dig hushes him again ("you're a filthy boy, Oliver") and cleans his cock slowly, relishing in the rise and fall of his stomach as his breath picks up, hitches. The archer quivers when John kisses the hickie on along the V of his hip. 

Oliver's eyes are glassy, he sounds desprate now, like he could cry. "Wanna come so bad Dig." 

"Gotta get you clean, you came all over yourself earlier."

"Please!"

"Quiet, Ollie. Don't move."

John rinses the rag again, impressed that, for the most part, Oliver doesn't move. His body quivers with need, his cock twitches, searching for release. His head falls back on the pillow. John takes longer to clean the rag than the last time.

"Good boy Oliver," he kisses his bruised collar bone as he cleans the dried cum off his stomach. Oliver abandons the sheets, clings to John instead. He arches off the bed, pressing against Dig's warmth and firmness. Their cocks brush, Oliver's angry, red, bare cock against the warmth of John's dick through his boxers. Oliver cries out as if struck.

"God please let me come letmecomepleaseDigplease," Oliver begs, barely coherent, but John wants to push him further. The rag slides over his chest as Dig's tongue slides over the shell of his ear.

"Good boy. Beg some more." 

"Touch meplease-a-ahn-I'msoclosealready Dig pleasejust need you toplease touch me Daddy."

The word goes straight to John's dick, no one has called him that before, Not even Oliver. He bites his ear. Pulls back to gaze at Oliver. His eyes are glassy, tears of need gathered in the corner. His face is red and warm in the morning sun, his lips swollen from being chewed on. He could barely speak, his words running together, lost in his need. He looked drugged. 

"I love you."

Dig says it because it's true, because in this moment he's never loved anyone or anything more. Oliver is the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, a part of him. 

Oliver's eyes go wide and he cums, silently, lips forming an 'o', nails dragging down John's back.

John holds the hero close as his orgasm trembles through him, savors the warmth of his come against their stomachs, breathes in his scent, basks in his soft little whimpers.

They stay like that for a while, Oliver buries his face in John's neck, won't look at him.

"I barely touched you. Such a good boy."

The billionaire's hands fist against his back.

"Dig why-"

"Sh. Don't overthink this Oliver, please. Just...let me...let me do this okay. Let me feel this-"

"It's dangerous John."

"It's always dangerous Oliver. You or I could die any day for any reason, Arrow or no Arrow. I...nothing can change this Oliver. How I feel. I need you to know...what you mean to me-"

"God I know Dig. I've known already. How could I not know?" Oliver's hands relax. He inhales deeply against John's neck, looks at him.

"You know..."

He faulters, looks helpless. John nods, kisses him softly. "I know Oliver." He pets Oliver's face. His heart is soaring. 

His dick is still ridiculously hard.

Dig rocks gently, his hard cock rubbing aginst Oliver's. He's responsive already, dick swelling once again to hardness. Always ready for John Diggle.

"Gonna fuck me, yeah Dig?" 

Dig shakes his head.

"Not this time. I just cleaned down there after all," Dig hums, joking lightly.

"Oh. Oh!" Oliver's eyes get wide, his voice is rushed, excited. "I get to-"

"Yes. God don't seem so excited," now it's John's turn to be embarrassed.

Oliver traces over the buldge in his boxers, his cheeks flushing a little. "Actually, I really enjoy...I like how...You feel really good around my cock."

John kisses him hard, coming up on his knees, thumbs hooking his boxers and pulling them down. His thick cock springs free. John trails his lips to Oliver's ear.

"Suck my cock first Oliver?" Oliver nods, eager. He enjoys this, Dig can tell. He pushes Dig back onto the bed, licks his lips and then, his lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue flicking. John runs his fingers through his short hair, massaging his scalp, moaning.

"Good boy. God fucking-love-oh fuck-" Oliver swallows his cock suddenly, tongue sliding along the underside of his girth on the way down. "Yes! Love how you suck my cock!"

Oliver hums around him, sucking eagerly. His eyes lock with Digs, and John marvels at his self controll.

"Don't make me come Ollie not yet. Want to come off your cock."

Oliver's mouth pops off his cock with a whine. He sits back, his cock hard and bouncing, asking. His fingers slide over his length and he aligns to press their cocks together. He jerks them both slowly, loving the warm, dark thickness of John's cock against his own. Oliver is actually longer, but John definitely has him beat in girth. Oliver sometimes thinks John will split him in half, especially when he rides-

"Fuck," Oliver whines, hips canting at the thought. No, not this time. This time he gets to fuck John. He's only done it once before, and the moment was burned into Oliver's memory. John was ridiculously tight, and Oliver knew he was the only person to ever have the privilege of fucking into his perfect warmth.

"Jesus fuck me Oliver!"

Oliver comes back to himself. John is leaking cum, a string of it down his cock. He's stroking Oliver's hips. His eyes are almost black with lust.

"Anything you say...whatever you want Dig...God whatever you want."

Oliver points to the bedside table, and John reaches over and grabs the lube. Oliver is generous with it. The first time, he had tore John, and his dominant hadn't been able to sit right for days. John had been eager and desprate then, and he was now, but Oliver had more control. He stretched open John, licking his twitching cock in a distraction.

"Oliver-" John's eyes are squeezed tight, he'se chewing his lip.

"Am I-"

"It's okay, it's just...weird...not like-" John stops, gasps. His eyes come open. He lets out a long, drawn out moan as Oliver presses softly, slowly, along his prostate. 

"Oliver," but it comes out like a swear. Dirty, filthy.

"God I wanna fuck you so bad Dig. You feel so warm. So tight. Know you'll feel so good around-"

"Oliver stop!" John gasps. Oliver looks up. John is embarrassed.

Oliver is giddy. He slicks up his cock, moans John's name. John looks equal parts embaressed and arroused.

"Oliver-"

"Don't act surprised that you turn me on this much," Oliver presses the head of his cock to John's ass. "You always make me come undone John."

John moans when Oliver pushes in. Oliver swears, pulling John's hips off the bed.

"Put your legs over my shoulders."

John gapes at him. Oliver leers. He can tell John is replaying every time he's ever had Oliver in that position, and he flushes, but complies. Oliver sinks deeper and John moans, gripping at his hands.

"Sh I got you. Jesus Dig I got you." Oliver laces their fingers, fucks slow and deep. John's face twists, then becomes pleasure. He moans, his back arches, his cock twitches.

"Dig..." Oliver whines. John Diggle is the only person alive to make him so fucking horny. Everything about the broad, powerful man makes the billionaire's cock twitch. 

John's skin is so hot, his body so giving. Oliver pumps his cock, lazy. He bites his lip, body shivering.

"Not gonna last Dig. Too hot. I'm gonna cum-" Oliver fucks slower, trying to draw it out. Dig always makes him cum fast, Oliver would be embarrassed, but Dig has no problem getting him hard again and again. John's ass is spasming around his cock and then, he's coming. The sight of it makes Oliver come. It's so hot, he can't help it. John shoots thick ropes, a lot and far. Oliver licks some off his nipple and slides out of the other. He watches his cum leak out of John's ass. He licks his lips.

John looks terribly cute, he thinks. The hero smiles, peppers his skin in kisses. God he loves John, but it's usually more of a burden than a comfort. Ultimately, John is a weakness. 

Oliver loves him still. He couldn't help it. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He just wanted sex, but he trusted John, and with that trust, love formed as well, blooming in every kiss, every bruise. It was in the way John smiled. Oliver was doomed.

He kisses John, soft and sad. He want John to know, even if he can't say it. God he's so weak.

John knows. Honestly Felicity probably knows. His sister. How could anyone not tell?

Oliver's fist clenches against John's chest and he looks away.

"Don't die, okay John?"

John frowns, pets his hips, pulls Oliver close to him. "I'm right here Oliver."

"Oliver," Dig touches his skin, forces them to look at each other. "I'm right here. I'll always be right here, with you."

"You can't know that, Dig."

Oliver is scared, he's overthinking, John can see it spread across him. He pets his cheek, kisses his eyelids.

"Stop Oliver. Stop. Let this be. Please. This...Oliver...you...I can't...I don't know what I'd do if you left."

Oliver grips him, shakes his head. "I won't leave Dig. You're right. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be Oliver."John's voice is serious, firm. "Don't ever apologize for being you. Please."

Oliver nods.

"Let's get a shower? Let me clean you."

Oliver's eyebrows perk up, interested. John rolls his eyes. "Not what I meant, but you know I love to make you come."

Oliver grins. "Race you to the shower."


End file.
